I've always loved you
by Naurring
Summary: SLASH, INCEST! Despite his attempts to prevent it a small child slowly creeps into Feanor’s heart.


**Titel: **I've always loved you  
**Words:** 4,486  
**Author:** Naurring  
**Beta:** Minuial Nuwing. All remaining mistakes are the author's fault  
**Email:** naurringgmx.de  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Feanor/Fingon  
**Warnings:** Incest  
**Disclaimer:** All Tolkien's, nothing's mine.  
**Request:** Something set in Aman before Feanor is exiled to Formenos. No PWP please. Serious story only (no humour or parody).  
**Written For:** Finarfiniel  
**Summary:** Despite his attempts at preventing it a small child slowly creeps into Feanor's heart.  
**Author's Note:** This ficlet was written for the Secret Santa Fanfic Swap 2005 (hence the request above). I shamelessly took a big knife and cut away some canon parts. Feanor hasn't married his wife yet, so he has no children, of course. I think I can remember having read somewhere that elves reach their majority with 50. In this ficlet I made one human year three years for an elf. So a 15 years old elfling would be as old as a 5 year old human child. It is written in time leaps. Every big section plays a few years later than the previous.

* * *

The warm beams of the sun flooded through the window, filling the room with a soft light. The hair of the only elf in the room shone in the light like liquid darkness. Feanor sat comfortably in a chair by the window, a carafe of wine and a glass next to him on a small table. He had been wandering the lands of Valinor these last weeks and now enjoyed relaxing in his rooms in Tirion whilst reading a book. Upon his return he had instantly run into his brothers… no, his half-brothers. Once again he had been fighting with them as he did nearly everytime they met. He was just glad that he could now spend his evening in peace. 

A sound from the doorway caught his attention and his gaze travelled from the pages of his book toward the door. He would have expected his father or perhaps one of his brothers who had come back to continue their fight. His was momentarily surprised when he didn't see anybody instantly, but then his gaze travelled lower and he caught sight of the small figure huddling against the doorway. The black hair and slightly frightened expression belonged to his nephew, Fingon, son of his half-brother Fingolfin.

Feanor's expression instantly darkened. He had never held much love for Fingolfin and Finarfin, the sons of his father's second wife, Indis. And the same went for his nephews. Fingolfin's second son, Turgon, was just a babe, but the child had already learned to keep away from his uncle.

Fingon was something entirely else. The first time Feanor and his nephew had met Fingon had sat upon the floor, staring up at his uncle with big eyes, mouth open in astonishment. The child's gaze hadn't left him even for a second, as long as he was in the room. After that the child had kept pursuing him, as soon as he could walk, escaping his parents to watch him from behind corners, doors or anything that he could find. It was a complete mystery to Feanor why the elfling should do something like that. It almost seemed as if Fingon wanted to be near him. But up to now he had never dared to sneak into Feanor's chambers to watch his uncle.

"What do you want? Who has allowed you to come into my chambers?" The small figure hastily pulled back a little when he noticed that Feanor had discovered him, yet he did not leave the room entirely. Fingon kept standing in the doorway, far away enough now that he could just turn around and run if he had to, but still inside his uncle's chambers. "I asked you something," Feanor said sternly. The child had retreated into the shadows of the door and it was difficult to see him, but the elder elf still recognized the expression on his face as mostly one of curiosity, mixed with just a hint of fear.

"What do you want from me?" Still he got no answer. Fingon just kept staring at him as he would perhaps stare at a new horse, full of wonder and admiration. Feanor had never had much patience and it had already come to an end. His nephew angered him greatly, just standing there and staring at him, not even answering any questions. Angrily he put his book on the table and stood, making a step towards the young elfling. Fingon's eyes momentarily widened in shock at finding the tall elf standing to come to him. Ere Feanor could do even as much as blink the child was gone and he just looked at an empty door.

* * *

Feanor stopped dead in his tracks, when the silent sobbing reached his ears. Frowning he turned, scanning the hallway to find the producer of those miserable sounds. Lumbering footsteps pulled his attention towards a small figure that was advancing on him from behind. When he turned around Feanor noticed the small form of his nephew. Fingon had grown much since he had first dared to advance on his uncle, he was now fourteen years of age. 

The elfling lifted a tear streaked face to the elder elf, showing two undefinable objects with shaking hands. Feanor felt a bit uneasy, he really didn't know what to do with the crying child. "What is it?" he asked rudely, hoping that the elfling would leave him again. "What do you want?"

The small hands reached a bit higher and tried to push the objects they held into Feanor's hands. "Broken," Fingon whispered, his voice hoarse from crying, his lips trembling.

Automatically the dark haired elf took the objects from the elfling. When he examined them he saw that they were two pieces of a delicate wooden horse the child had managed to break.

"Make it whole?" Fingon asked, his eyes looking pleadingly up at his uncle.

Feanor didn't know what to do with the wooden toy, undecidedly turning it in his hands. "I can't," he finally said, pushing the broken horse back into the child's hands. It wasn't even a lie – he had nothing with him that would help him repairing the toy. He had better things to do at the moment than to go to his smithy where the things were he would need. Besides, it would be much easier to carve a new horse than to repair it.

A small sob escaped the child when he looked at the two pieces of his beloved toy. When he raised his head again his uncle was already walking away from him.

* * *

Feanor groaned inwardly when he heard the sound of hurried footsteps coming towards him. He had hoped to spend some time in the beautiful gardens that belonged to Tirion. A glance over his shoulder told him what he had already expected. A bright smile on his face Fingon came running towards him, clutching something tightly to his chest. Feanor thought about just ignoring the child or taking flight but his nephew was already next to him. 

Eyes sparkling happily at finding his uncle out here Fingon held the book in his hands out to the tall elf. "Will you read to me?" The child was 16 years by now and although he was learning to read by himself it was still much more fun to be read to.

Feanor halted in his steps and glared down at the elfling. Fingons happy expression faltered somewhat and the book sank down some inches, but still he gave not up. "Please, will you read to me?"

Feanor simply couldn't believe it that Fingon was still so insistent. One and a half decade should be more than enough to make it clear that he did not want to spend time with his brother's son. Either the child was very obstinate or very stupid. "No, child. I don't have time to read to you. Go to your adar, he will certainly do it." The black haired elf didn't bother to stay with his nephew anymore and continued his way through the gardens. When he bent around a corner he threw a glance back at Fingon and his book.

The elfling still stood at the same place where he had left him, gaze cast sadly to the earth. Feanor felt a small sting of guilt. Actually he had more than enough time. For one short moment he thought about turning around to read to the child for some minutes. Firmly he shook his head. If he gave in this one time Fingon would probably return to him again and again and he would never get rid of him again. Besides, Fingolfin would have his head if he dared to spent time with his son. No, there was no way he would give in to the elfling's wishes.

* * *

"Can I come with you?" 

Feanor froze in his movements, completely taken aback by the pleading voice. Disbelieving he turned around, hands still on the back of his horse he had just prepared to mount to go on one of his journeys.

His nephew stood behind him and looked pleadingly up at him. He had even already dressed for a ride.

Feanor simply couldn't believe it. Seven years had passed and the small child had grown; Turgon was an elfling by himself now and a few months ago their mother had given them a little sister, Aredhel. Fingon had learned how to read and write and he was also a good rider. Over the last years he had taken nearly every chance to go near his uncle, often just to watch him, but sometimes he approached him with ridiculous pleas. He asked Feanor to read to him, to repair broken toys, help him practice his skills in chess… sometimes he even came just to show him his new clothes. And always the response had been negative.

After some time Feanor had realized that over all those years Fingon had not once called him "uncle". When the elfling had grown older he had sometimes called the elder elf by his name, but never _uncle._ Feanor didn't think too much of it. He thought it was just natural that his brother had done everything to ensure his son didn't feel a connection to his unloved brother.

"Come with me?" Feanor asked a bit slowly. He thought he had made it very clear that he didn't want to have anything to do with Fingon. And yet here the young elfwas, pleading to be taken along.

Fingon nodded eagerly, apparently encouraged by the fact that he was not sent away immediately.

"How did you get the idea that I would take you with me? I'm not going to return for some weeks, you cannot come along." The happy expression on the child's face fell and he stared sadly up at his uncle.

"Please?"

Feanor laughed and swung himself onto the back of his horse. "Pleading won't gain you anything, child. It just is not possible. Go and play with your brother or bother your father. I have to go now." With that he pressed his heels into his horse's side and rode away. Throwing a glimpse over his shoulder he saw his nephew still standing in the yard, looking after him. He did not go away whilst Feanor could still see him. Feanor flinched when he thought of the elfling's crushed expression. The fact that he really had not been able to take Fingon with him did little to suppress the uprising guilt.

* * *

Feanor heard the silent footsteps before the voice of his nephew inquired; "Can you teach me how to do that?" The hand of the child pointed at the delicate ring Feanor was just forging. 

"Of course can I teach you," Feanor answered, knowing that he was being unnecessarily cruel, but speaking the words nonetheless. "But I won't do it."

The happy smile that had spread on Fingon's face instantly vanished. There was a small silence during which neither of them spoke and just the sound of Feanor working could be heard.

"Why not?" Fingon dared to ask after a while.

"Just because I won't do it." Feanor thought he could see a suspicious wetness in the child's eyes and he almost felt pity for him. The child was patient and insistent, that he had to admit. Nearly all his life he had tried to win his uncle's attention and up to now he hadn't given up. Feanor had long ago grown used to Fingon's tryings and to his dismay he had even started to bear feelings for the child that went past loathing, though he certainly would never admit that to anyone, not even to himself.

Fingon was not really child anymore. A few weeks ago the 31st year of his life had begun. Just a few more years and he would begin to mature, in many ways. Feanor wondered if his nephew would still come to him when he started to be interested in other boys or girls, if he started a family.

"Please?" Fingon almost whimpered, but Feanor sternly shook his had. "Leave me alone, child. You're disturbing my work." Behind his back Feanor could hear the footsteps of his nephew slowly retreating. Thoughtfully he halted in his movements for some time. Somehow he had the urge to turn around and follow Fingon, to tell him some other reason why he couldn't do it, a reason that wouldn't make him cry. Feanor's heart clenched thinking of the pleading tone in the elfling's voice.

Fingon had wanted to learn from his uncle so badly, but if Feanor did his nephew might hurt himself with one of the tools or with the fire. Feanor's eyes widened when he realized why he really hadn't wanted to teach him. Sternly he shook his head over this stupid feeling. Fingon was his brother's son. He loathed his brother and so he also loathed his nephew. He certainly had no interest in spending time with Fingon and teaching him his craft.

* * *

"Will you teach me?" Feanor released a loud sigh of frustration. Fingon, once again. He couldn't even count anymore how often he had come to his smithy by now. 

"Fingon…" he started. His back was turned to his nephew who stood in the door to his workshop, arms sternly crossed over his chest. "Don't tell me you won't do it. You always tell me that. Either you give me a real reason or you teach me now."

Feanor's hand clenched around the edge of the table. Damn, this child was stubborn! It had been almost two years since they had started this game. Fingon would take every chance to visit his uncle in the smithy and ask to be taught his craft. And Feanor would always say no. Feanor considered screaming at the boy and throwing him out of his shop, but he loathed to do so. And he also loathed this little ritual. Two years of being disturbed during work surely were enough.

"Very well," he sighed, finally turning around. "Come here."

"What?" Fingon blinked perplexed at Feanor's words.

"I said come here. Or did you just say that to be able to bother me?"

A bright smile spread over Fingon's face. "Of course not!" With a few steps he was beside his uncle, happily grinning up at him.

Staring into the elfling's beaming face Feanor wondered what he had gotten himself into. It was very doubtful that he would now be rid of his nephew ever again. "Very well," he started, picking up one of his tools. "Look at this…"

* * *

Restlessly Feanor shifted around in his chair. The book lay open in his lap, but he hadn't managed to read a word for at least half an hour. His gaze kept constantly traveling toward the door and he was listening for any sound in the hallway. Finally he laid his book aside and rose. 

Where on Arda was Fingon? He hadn't seen the boy for nearly a month now. No shy glances from behind curtains and doors, no kind smiles and waves when they passed, no interruption in his daily works. Fingon hadn't even come to his smithy to receive his lessons. It was as if the child had simply vanished.

_The child,_ he thought. A hesitant smile crossed Feanors features. He could hardly call his nephew a child anymore. The boy had grown fast and now was an adolescent of 43 years. His features were still somewhat childlike, but his body already resembled more that of an adult. When he was fully grown, Fingon would be a strong and handsome elf.

Feanor shook his head, surprised that such thoughts had invaded his mind. What was the matter with him? He had never cared much about his family, save for his father perhaps. Why was he suddenly worrying about his brother's persistent child? Could it be that he had really come to like the boy and missed his shy advcances? Thoughtfully Feanor stared out of the window.

It was true that his feelings towards his nephew had changed a great deal throughout the last years. It had become a daily routine for them to meet in his workshop to forge something together or to just talk. Outside he could see many elves going about their work, but none of them were Fingon.

His heart ached at Fingon's long absence. Feanor couldn't remember that he had ever felt this alone. A loud sigh left his lips, leaning back against the chair. He could simply ask his brothers or his father where his nephew had vanished to but he would never dare to do so. Fingolfin wouldn't be delighted to learn what his brother and son had been up to the last years. Fingon hadn't told him of their meetings and Feanor thought it better for both of them if the young one's father remained unaware.

By the Valar, where was the boy? It really was time that Fingon turned up again. Feanor hadn't been able to think of anything else the last few days. It was as if Fingon had become a part of his life, of himself, that suddenly wasn't there anymore. Tiredly Feanor closed his eyes. This was how his father must have felt when his mother had died. This was how it must feel to lose a loved one.

The black haired elf's eyes flew open. What had he just thought? A dark feeling crept up on him. No, surely this couldn't be. After all Fingon was his brother's son and his nephew and… and it simply couldn't be. It couldn't be that he loved him.

* * *

Feanor nearly dropped the glowing piece of metal in relief when Fingon stepped through the door, a shaky smile on his face. "Fingon!" Feanor exclaimed. "By the Valar, where have you been?" His eyes widened in shock at seeing the limp with which his nephew walked when he advanced on him. 

"I'm sorry," Fingon said stepping next to the elder elf. "I wanted to come, really."

"What has happened to your leg? You're limping." Worriedly Feanor glanced down at the limping leg.

"Oh, that." Fingon wriggled with his foot and grinned up at Feanor. "I broke it. I couldn't leave the bed, so I wasn't able to come here."

"You broke your leg?" The concern in Feanor's voice was evident. "And it is healed now? You're well again?"

"All is well," the younger elf answered with a nod. "I'm going to limp for a few more days, but nothing will remain." Fingon's eyes sparkled, when he looked up at Feanor. "You sound so concerned. Have you been worried about me, Feanor?"

Feanor snorted. "Worried? Me? About you?" He laughed sharply. "Child, what do you think! I didn't even notice that you were not here! Worried, really." Without a further word he pushed the cooled metal back into the oven to heat it once again.

Fingon still grinned up at him and a small smile spread on Feanor's features as well. He could deny it as much as he wanted to, but both of them knew what he had felt.

* * *

Feanor slowly entered his room and dropped down into a chair. His day had been long and tiring and he longed for nothing more than for a hot bath and his bed. He poured himself a glass of wine out of the small carafe that stood ready on the small table next to him. Taking a sip he leaned his head back against the chair. 

Suddenly something on his bed caught his attention. Putting his goblet back onto the table he rose and went over to his bed. It was a small package, masterfully wrapped in a beautiful cloth. Curiously Feanor picked it up, sitting down on his bed. Slowly he started to unwrap the little present.

Though it was his begetting day today he was very surprised to have received a present. One year was nothing for an elf and most did not care to celebrate this day every year. And Feanor, who wasn't really close with his family, hadn't celebrated it for years. It was probably from his father. Finwё sometimes gave him a present when his begetting day had arrived.

When he had finally unwrapped the cloth a small wooden box was revealed to him. Beautiful carvings adorned it and some parts of the carvings had been painted with golden paint to highlight them. When Feanor opened the box his breath caught. With shaky fingers he reached inside the box and pulled out a silver chain. On the chain hung a pendant in the shape of a butterfly, adorned with small gems and stones.

Astonished Feanor stared at the beautiful chain. Who on Arda could have gifted him with something that special and beautiful? When he looked closer Feanor could see a small note inside the box. There wasn't written much on the note, just a few words.

_Happy begetting day, Feanor. _

Confused, Feanor stared at the beautiful pendant, wondering who could have given it to him. The present didn't quite look as if it had come from his father and Finwё would have given it to him personally. But who else would care enough about him to gift him with something like this? Feanor's eyes widened when he realized that the piece of jewellery had come from Fingon. Shocked he stared at the pendant. He couldn't believe that his nephew had gifted him with such a beautiful and probably expensive gift. Why had he done this?

Feanor's hand closed around the fragile butterfly, tightly closing his eyes. He knew it. He knew why he had done it. All those years, during his whole life the boy had tried to win his attention, to get in touch with him. And though he had constantly been pushed away he hadn't given up and his affection for his uncle had constantly grown, eliciting feelings in the older one as well. Could it really be that Fingon loved him? But what was even more important: Did Feanor really love _him?_

* * *

It was late at night when Feanor finally left his chambers. Quietly he made his way over to the part of the house where his brothers and their families lived. He carefully opened the door that he knew would lead to the room in which Fingon lived. He quietly closed the door behind him after entering and just stood there for some minutes, watching the scene before him. 

Fingon stood at the window, looking outside. He wore a beautiful dark green sleeping robe, a colour which suited him well, Feanor thought. Surely the boy had heard someone enter, but he did not turn around or even move, nor do anything else that indicated he had noticed the other's presence.

_Not "boy,"_ Feanor had to correct himself. It had been years before when he had left this part of his life behind. Fingon had already reached his majority and was an adult. He still needed to grow in height a bit, but he surely wasn't a child anymore. Feanor moved away from the door and advanced on his nephew.

"So you have finally come", he heard Fingon's voice. "You have never come to me before, you know?"

Feanor didn't answer. Fingon was right, never before had he done anything that showed his wish to be with the other elf.

"Did you receive my present?"

A smile spread over the dark haired elf's face. His hand came up, gently touching and stroking the butterfly that hang on its chain around his neck. "I did," Feanor answered quietly. "It is very beautiful. Thank you very much."

The room was quiet for a moment, both elves a bit uneasy about the situation. They had never been this intimate before and neither knew exactly how to react.

"How did you know it was my begetting day today?"

"I asked father", came the quiet answer.

Feanor's eyebrows crept up his brow. "Your father? And he actually told you?"

Fingon turned around, leaning back against the windowsill, studying the other elf quietly. "He does not hate you as much as you think, you know."

Feanor laughed bitterly. "Child, my brothers and I have parted in mind a long time ago. There is no love between us."

"You are wrong. You are brothers. You cannot hate each other. How could they possibly loathe somebody like you?"

Once again there were a few moments of silence. Fingon slowly moved away from the window, advancing on the elder elf. "And don't call me "child," Feanor," he whispered when he was standing just in front of Feanor. "I am no child any longer."

"I know," Feanor whispered back. He swallowed hard, seeing this beautiful elf so close to him. The dark eyes studied him closely, traveled over every inch of his face. Feanor shivered slightly, the gaze felt like hands that gently moved over his skin. "You are very persistent," Feanor whispered. He took a small step back when the other came even closer to him, creating a small distance between them once again.

"I would have thought that you had given up after a few years, but you didn't… all your life…" his breath caught when Fingon came nearer once again. Their faces where nearly touching now, their lips just inches away. "Why did you do it?" he continued. "I would understand it if you had started when you were older, but always have you pursued me. Such a small child… Even as a toddler you would look after me. Later I would have said that you loved me… but why then?"

A bright smile spread over the younger elf's face. "But Feanor… I have always loved you," came the whispered reply and then soft lips touched his.

Just for a short moment Fingon kept his lips pressed to those of his beloved. Feanor could have easily moved away, but he didn't. He surprised himself by even pressing closer. When they parted again the triumphant twinkle in the younger elf's eyes told him that he had been caught. So many years Fingon had tried to be with him. So many years he had constantly pushed the boy away – pushed all the harder as he noticed his developing feelings for his nephew. But now the hunt was over. Just one kiss and he was lost.

Smiling Fingon slowly laid his arms around the other elf. Feanor reacted instinctively by wrapping his arms around the slender waist.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Fingon whispered and pressed another kiss to Feanor's lips. Their kiss was far deeper this time and Fingon willingly opened his mouth to accept the other's tongue. After they had kissed for some minutes they breathlessly had to part. Pleading eyes stared up at Feanor.

"But of course," Feanor answered quietly. "Anything you wish." And after a short moment of hesitation he added: "My love."

End


End file.
